The Scales of Death
by Ringworm15
Summary: The story of a young Argonian Shadowscale's shadowy travels through the Dark Brotherhood. Rated M for gore and some language.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Wesk was chosen from birth, like all Shadowscales, to be trained in the way of stealth and murder. He showed considerable progress in his training, but was never able to control his urge for the kill. He spent seventeen years training, but no matter how hard he tried, Wesk couldn't control his urge. It caused him to make foolish mistakes and fail all test given to him. There was also the troubling fact he couldn't turn invisible, like all those born under the sign of The Shadow.

At the age of 18, he decided it was time to leave. He left the Kingdom of Argonia, breaking the code of the Shadowscales. Yet he was never chased or hunted down like other rogue Shadowscales before him. He wondered for the seven years he lived in the small town of Leyawin, located in the Imperial Province close to the border of Black Marsh, why he was left alone. He soon found love in another argonian, having given up the life of a Shadowscale. Yet, Wesk knew he'd never be able to escape his murderous urges.

On one particularly dark day, Wesk suspected his love was not true. He followed her that day when she left him at home to "meet friends", only to find her in bed with his best friend of three years. The urges had finally come back. He bided his time, waiting in the shadows until the couple fell asleep in each other's arms.

His "love" woke to a single hiss from the room. Thinking it was her new lover, she turned only to see the horrible scene of him decapitated and mutilated. "You know, he didn't scream once. Of course, it is hard to scream when you don't have a throat." The voice, she realized, was just behind her. She whirled around to see nothing but shadow, backing up to the end of the bed. Suddenly, the head of her lover came hurling towards her, landing between her legs. She opened her mouth, but no sound came. She was too terrified to say anything.

"You… were the only one I loved. You do have my thanks, however. You helped me realize I'll never have a normal life, and that it's foolish to deny my urges. Don't worry, you won't be alone. You'll see _him_ again. Goodbye, my _love_." With that, he slit her throat, ending her pathetic life. Taking time to admire his work, he eventually returned to his home to rest. As he slumbered, the room started to become cold, the room dark. "You sleep rather soundly for a murderer…"

Wesk's eyes snapped open and, instantly drawing his dagger, confronted the darkness. "Who are you? Explain yourself." Out of the shadows came a dark robed man. He bowed formally, and started to introduce himself. "I am Lucien Lachance, a speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. The Night Mother has been watching you, observing as you kill without mercy. You are a killer, a taker of life, a harvester of souls. I offer you a chance to be with other individuals who share your lust for death."

"I'm listening." Wesk vaguely remembered that had he finished his Shadowscale training, he would have been adopted into the Brotherhood. "Excellent. Now, to join our family, you must pass a test of sorts. Deep in the woods west of the Imperial City, a Nord by the name of Hans Hard-Hands lives in his cabin, alone. You must prove to me that you wish to join by killing a man who has done you no harm, an innocent soul. When Hans lies dead, I will visit you again and welcome you, as family. Just as he appeared, Lucien vanished into the shadows.

It took three days for Wesk to journey from Leyawin and locate the cabin belonging to Hans Hard-Hands. Lucky for Wesk, it was past midnight when he finally found the small cabin, meaning Hans was most likely sleeping. He crept in through an open window, which seemed odd at first to him. That thought was dismissed the second he saw a large nord in dirty overalls sleeping in his bed like a baby. Wesk slowly and silently walked towards Hans, and was within striking range, but why shouldn't he have some fun? Muttering under his breath, Wesk cast a spell which rendered Hans paralyzed and oblivious to pain.

He began to saw off Hans's arms and legs, ripping through flesh, tendon, and bone. With his work done, Wesk withdrew his spell's effects and slapped Hans out of his deep sleep. The feeling of intense pain immediately erupted to life. Hans's eyes burst open and his gaze fell on the Argonian before him. The argonian was just like all the others he'd seen: More lizard than man, with scales covering every inch of his body, and eyes the color of blood. This argonian had scales as black as a bottomless abyss and that combined with his frightening eyes, this…thing before him looked like death itself.

Hans's first instinct was to grab for his axe, but stared in horror at his now bloodied stump. The next thought was to try and escape, but he only fell to the floor in his attempt to stand. Wesk laughed like a madman as he watched the nord's attempt to escape. "Does the nord want some mead to drown the pain? Well, let me help you." Wesk grabbed a tankard still filled with the drink and dumped its contents on Hans. Despite the fact Hans had no hands or feet, he could still move around enough to reach the door. "Tsk tsk tsk, can't have you moving around too much, now can we?" Wesk grabbed four knives off from the nearby table and stuck one through each of Hans's arms and legs, nailing him to the ground. The nord started to wail like an infant, with pleas to spare him.

Wesk quickly grew tired of the nord's begging. "No, I'm afraid not. It is now time to die. Give my regards to Sithis." Quickly grabbing the knife embedded in Hans's left arm, Wesk plunged the bloodied knife into Hans's throat. Blood slowly trickled through the wound, forming a small pool on the floor. After removing the knives, Wesk hefted Hans's body out to an open field and threw it to the wolves. He soon returned to the cabin and awaited Lucien's arrival. He appeared within the hour.

"Well done, young Shadowscale. I now welcome you to the family. Go now, to the city of Cheydinhal. Look for an abandoned house, east of the local chapel. In the basement, you will find a door. It will ask you a question, to which you will answer "Sanguine, my brother", and you'll gain access to your new Sanctuary. You will meet with an old friend of yours, Ocheeva, to attain your orders. I wouldn't expect her to remember you though, as you have… changed over the years. Now go, and once again, welcome to the family."

As Wesk watched Lucien vanish into the darkness, he felt concerned. How had Lucien known he was Shadowscale? And that he was once friends with Ocheeva? He pondered these questions as he set off for the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, on the path of death, blood, and shadow, leading to destiny that will shake the very roots of the Dark Brotherhood.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Three days had passed before Wesk arrived in Cheydinhal. He walked along its cobbled paths, watching as lowly beggars asked for money from the richer folk, and the guards making their rounds. Cheydinhal had a meadow feeling to it, with trees arching above clean ponds, bridges hovering above them. He was admiring the beauty when a small child came up to him.

The child was a dark elf, with the usual ash grey skin and dark red eyes. He looked about six years old, and had short, unruly auburn hair. He wore the clothes of a beggar, showing many dark and foul smelling stains. "Spare a bite to eat, kind sir?" Wesk grinned at the small beggar and reached in his bag to pull out a small, greenish apple. He watched as the young boy's eyes instantly drifted to the apple and stayed there, his mouth practically watering.

Wesk handed the boy the apple, patted him on the head and merely said "enjoy" before walking off. He had taken only ten steps before hearing the sound of a small body falling on cobbled roads. Wesk grinned as he walked along, thinking about how useful and fun poisoned apples were. One bite into it and your fate was sealed. His thoughts were disrupted when he heard the shouts of dismay coming from the boy's body. The shouting was coming from an older woman, a Dunmer, most likely the boy's mother. She was crying over his body, asking why and pounding her fist onto his chest in a useless effort to bring him back. Wesk chuckled once more before continuing on his way.

Wesk soon found himself in front the old abandoned house that Lucien had sent him to. He walked past a broken old stone fence; its stones now pebbles littering the street. He looked around before opening up the broken, burnt door, its hinges squealing a bit. He stepped inside to see a small living room littered with trash, old, now rotting books, broken bottles, chairs missing legs, and glass from the windows. His gaze drifted to the doors that probably lead to the basement.

When he opened the doors, a familiar stench came rushing at him. It was the stench of death. Wesk found the basement with no light, dark as a midnight sky. He took a near by torch and using a simple flare spell, lit it and watched as light now filled a circle around him. As he explored the basement, he watched as the light danced on the old broken bottles that littered a wine rack. Rats scurried over his feet and into hidden crevices as he walked over the dusty concrete. He soon found an archway about the size of a door with a path behind it leading into the earth.

As Wesk followed the path, his gaze drifted to the ground where he saw the bones of the deceased littering the ground, some still dripping with fresh blood. His walk came to a stop when he found a rather large door, covered in ancient pictures. At the bottom, a woman stood with five little figures, which Wesk guessed to be children, kneeled at her feet. At the top was a menacing looking skull with blood red energy painted around it. He barely placed his palm on it before a voice quietly whispered in his ear. "What is the color of night?" was the question posed by the door, to which Wesk answered "Sanguine, my brother."

The door silently opened and beyond the door, Wesk could see a dimly lit room with pillars holding up the ceiling and posters bearing the sign of the brotherhood. Wesk stepped in and again came the voice. "Welcome…home." Yes, he was finally home. In the distance Wesk could see a small female Argonian, wearing a black suit tailored for assassins. As he walked towards her, he could see her looking him over, judging him. He remembered at once who this was: Ocheeva, a friend of his from his Shadowscale training days.

"Welcome Brother, welcome! Lucien had told me about you. I wish I could get to know you better but I'm afraid I have important issues to deal with. Oh, before I go, I have a gift for you. It is a suit made to enhance your assassination skills." She handed him a folded black suit, similar to what she was wearing and a hood on top. "When you're ready for your first assignment, report to Vicente Valtieri. Please excuse me, and once again welcome to your new family." She briefly nodded to him and walked off to one of the two doors that were on his left and right.

As Wesk walked around he remembered what Lucien had said. Ocheeva didn't remember him. He didn't really blame her though, as he had gotten taller, and his scales had become black as he matured. He was so deep in his thinking that he hadn't noticed he had wondered into the living quarters of the Sanctuary. He sat down on an empty bed that had a letter resting on the pillow. It was from Lucien to Wesk, once again welcoming him into the family and hoping Wesk would become a valued member of the family. A few more things lye near the note: A quiver of steel arrows, a black bow, and a pair of steel daggers. He discarded the message and started to strip off his old clothing, and put on his new suit, strapping the daggers to his waist. It fitted him perfectly, and he noticed it was more of a trench coat than a suit. He tried on the hood and felt secure while wearing it. He took a nearby bowl, poured some water into it, and briefly gazed at his reflection before muttering "looking good…"

He laid down and relaxed on the bed, letting his mind wander. He was soon distracted by a young girl who was sitting on the opposite bed looking curiously at him. "What?" Wesk muttered to her only to receive a smile in return. He assumed her to be fifteen. She wore a black robe that hung loosely over her thin frame. She was what the soft skins considered beautiful; her hair was long and black, covering half of her face. He could tell by her dark blue eyes she was a Breton. Her skin was a pale white, yet it added to her beauty. Her face was gaunt with signs of hunger, but it wasn't too noticeable. Wesk assumed she was skilled at skulking in the shadows for he hadn't heard he come in.

"Well? Do you want something girl?" Wesk was annoyed by this girl yet also curious. "No not really. You're the new guy right?" She waited until he nodded yes before continuing. "I'm Samara. It's nice to meet you." Wesk muttered a thank you before trying to get back to his thoughts. He was once again disturbed by Samara when she continued to stare at him. She suddenly flicked him on his snout and softly giggled. Wesk jumped up immediately and was about to draw his dagger when he noticed it wasn't there. He looked down at his sheath then back at Samara. She was holding his dagger in midair and twirling it around, her eyes fixated on it. Her hands rested on her lap…

"Looking for this?" Wesk knew what this girl was at that moment. "A psychic are we? Great…" Samara giggled once more before handing the dagger back to Wesk. "You need to control that temper. Well I'm gonna go now. If you need anything, just ask." She smiled warmly at Wesk before skipping off. Wesk merely stared after her before muttering "Soft skins…"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Wesk awoke in a state of irritation. He had nodded off. He quickly leaped off his bed and proceeded to try and find this Vicente. He jogged from the living quarters to the main hall, seeing not a soul. "Man this place is empty…" He suddenly heard a familiar giggle behind him. "That's because they're all on assignments." Wesk whirled around to see Samara sitting comfortably in a chair, a book in hand. "Is Vicente here then?" Wesk questioned, his irritation only growing. She pointed to the north hall and finally added "Just go that way and turn right."

Wesk quickly walked away from the strange little girl who just kept giggling. He followed Samara's directions and went down two small staircases before finding a large door with a single V etched into it. He opened the door to see a man wearing all black, reading a book. This man looked up and kindly greeted Wesk, and started to get up. Wesk was shocked at what he saw. The incredibly gaunt face, pale skin, red eyes, two protruding fangs. This Vicente was a vampire. "Hello, you must be the new assassin Lucien has told me about. Says you have great promise." Vicente could still see the look of surprise on Wesk's face and quickly added "Oh please don't be frightened. My duties for the brotherhood come before my needs as a vampire. Now that we've met, let's get down to business."

"Your first assignment for the brotherhood is a simple one. I hope you don't like pirates, because you have to kill one. A captain actually. I won't bore you with the small details; his boat is docked in the Imperial City. The boat is guarded by his crew who are willing to die for him. You might want to try and sneak onboard so to avoid them. Well that's all you really need to know. Go now, and try not to have too much fun."

Wesk traveled to the Imperial City in a matter of two days, encountering no troubles. The city was always awake it seems. It was now midnight and yet some people still walked along, talking loudly and incessantly. Wesk knew how to navigate the city. It was basically a giant circle, with it split up into small sections. He proceeded through the Talos and Temple sections until he reached the Waterfront, the only dock in the city. He saw a small freighter docked on his right, but it had no pirates guarding it, rather it was an inn. He continued walking along the boardwalk watching a number of beggars talking and looking at Wesk with envy. The Waterfront was also home to some of the poorest people in Cyrodil.

He soon found the ship he was looking for, with the pirates patrolling the deck. He knew he wouldn't be able to take them all out alone, so he scanned the surroundings for a silent way in. He noticed that there were some crates sitting near the ship, meaning that they were moving supplies onboard. He quickly found an open crate, shut it, and went into a trance, waiting until he could make his move.

He soon felt the box he was in drop and heard the rocking motions of the water. He was in. Wesk silently opened the lid to his hiding place and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. He crawled out nimbly and silently and quickly drew his dagger. He sneaked around on the bottom deck before moving up into the sleeping quarters. As he walked slowly along, he noticed no one was around, until he came upon a corner and quickly put his back to it to listen. He heard voices, voices from a redguard and a nord, chatting calmly. Wesk grinned at the thought of blood being spilt and drew his second dagger. He quickly whirled around the corner and ran silently to the two unsuspecting victims.

Before they could react, Wesk plunged both of his daggers into the backs of both men, and summoning all his strength, ripped them upwards, severing bone and organ, flesh being ripped asunder. When it was done, all that was left were two corpses, both creating a V from the waist up. Their split organs now pooled onto the floor, blood lining the cracks in the wood. On both sides of their faces was the look of surprise. Stepping on the heart of the nord, Wesk continued his hunt for the pirate captain.

He found a ladder just a few feet from his kills, one that probably led up to the captain's quarters. He quietly climbed up the ladder, making sure not a single squeak came from the ladder. He found a nicely decorated room at the top, with his prey sitting peacefully in a chair, eating what looked like fresh lamb. He started to sneak towards him, when he stepped on a loose plank that made a horrible screeching noise, like a banshee's shriek. The captain immediately looked behind him to see the argonian now poised in a combat stance.

The captain drew his long sword and rushed Wesk. Wesk dodged to the left and tried to counter by bringing his dagger down in a perfect arc. The captain blocked at the last second and forced Wesk back against the wall before plunging his blade into Wesk's gut. Wesk let out a pain filled gasp and collapsed onto the floor as the captain retrieved his blade. The captain chuckled and in a foolish mistake, assumed that Wesk couldn't move and sheathed his blade. Wesk grinned weakly and took his chance. He quickly rose to his feet and in a torrent of fury, lopped off both of the captain's arms and then plunged his daggers into fool's neck. The captain had a stunned look on his face, and it stuck even after Wesk had retracted his daggers and let him fall.

Wesk collapsed onto the floor to rest, but it was not to be as a banging came from the door that lead onto the deck along with a voice that followed. "Captain? Captain are you all right? We're coming in." Wesk heard the jingling of keys and knew he had little time to escape before they came in. He pulled the Captains corpse over and searched his pockets, finding a few pieces of gold and finally the key. He took it and ran to the door behind the table. He quickly jammed the key in and unlocked it, ran onto the small balcony, and leapt off into the icy cold waters below.

He swam underneath the gentle waves until he reached land that was a fair distance from the ship and the Waterfront. He collapsed onto the ground panting, some of his blood seeping into the ground. He turned onto his back and stared at the night sky before his vision became dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Wake up you pathetic hatchlings! It's time for your training to begin." Wesk opened his eyes slowly, getting used to the torchlight that illuminated the room. He rose from his bed with a groan, cracking his neck. Today was the day that he and five other trainees would be taken and left in a remote section of the marsh to survive for three days. They would have to hunt, find shelter, and do whatever it took to survive. Usually only one to three trainees came back.

He gathered the things he'd need to survive: A canteen, some potions, and his rusty iron dagger. Wesk looked around at the other beds to see his soon to be squad also preparing for the trip that was ahead. He knew none of these young argonians, and he planned to keep it like that. Suddenly, Wesk found himself on his knees. Another trainee, slightly taller and muscular than Wesk was standing over him, holding his potions with a grin on his face. The taller argonian pocketed the potions and walked off. Wesk started to draw his dagger before sheathing it. He would have three days alone with this bastard. Might as well use it to his advantage.

The group, led by two Shadowscales, was being led to a remote part of Black Marsh, passing a plethora of plant life and wild animals. They had been walking for two hours when a giant, mysterious wolf like animal attacked the group. It was quickly put down by the two Shadowscales before it could kill off the young hatchlings. It still managed to kill one of the trainees however, tearing her apart with it's dagger like fangs. Wesk bent down to inspect the corpse of the girl, watching as her blood pooled out onto the dark ground, mixing with an abundance of twigs and leaves, her eyes still open, wide in shock. He reached into her sack and pulled out ten potions, pocketing them quickly before kicking the corpse into the dark, murky waters, watching with a sadistic grin as her corpse was swallowed by a passing creature the size of a small house.

They finally reached the test site, a small clearing in a grove of trees, with a small pond in the center. While the trainees examined their home for three days, the Shadowscales had already left, leaving the lives of five ten year olds to be decided by fate. Wesk was the only one who was already setting up his sleeping quarters, grabbing handfuls of giant leaves of the trees for his bed, putting up fallen tree branches in the shape of a teepee. He then started to put mini spike traps around his space, to make sure no one tried to steal his things or his shelter. When he deemed his shelter finished, Wesk set off to hunt for his food, making sure to let no one follow.

He didn't have to walk for long before finding a large deer, calmly eating blades of grass, unaware of the small argonian creeping up behind it. Wesk leaped on the deer, feeling the beast at once try to shake him off, its eyes full of fright and panic. Wesk drew his dagger and quickly cut the deer across the throat, its blood quickly dripping out from the gash. The deer continued to thrash around; doing anything it could to get the merciless killer off it. It finally slowed down, and then stopped all together. Wesk went about cutting the head off, sawing at muscle and tendon, then when he hit bone, lifted the deer and bashed the neck against a nearby stone, its neck bone shattering into tiny white shards. Wesk dragged the deer back only to see his shelter defiled.

Blood surrounded his teepee; all his traps had been set off. Nearby, a body lay, filled with holes, face forever in a gaze of terror and sadness. Wesk looked into his teepee to see the argonian who had stolen his potions earlier. All Wesk thought from there was vengeance. During his training, Wesk displayed a natural talent for the magick school of Illusion. He used a simple invisibility spell and crawled over to the unfortunate argonian asleep in his bed. He whispered in the argonian's ears a spell that induced its victim into a frenzy of rage.

The argonian awoke and in a trance grabbed his sword. What happened next would stay with Wesk for the rest of his life. The entranced argonian brought his blade down on a female argonian who was sitting by a fire, cleaving her head off and grabbing it with his free hand. Another argonian, a male smaller than the berserker, plunged his short sword into the berserker, only to be beaten down with the females head. The other argonian was nowhere to be found, probably having fled the massacre. Wesk simply sat on a log, grinning as he watched the berserker continue beating the small male argonian, who had left the world already.

Wesk stood up and walked slowly to the berserker, grinning maliciously. He lightly took hold of the berserker's ear and whispered an order into his ear. Wesk stepped back to watch the berserker take hold of his swords handle with both hands, lift the sword above his head, and bring it down into his stomach, making no sounds of pain or anguish. He fell to the ground with a soft thump, all the while Wesk watching with pure delight. Two days later, two Shadowscales had come for whoever survived. All they found was Wesk sitting peacefully by a fire, listening to the sounds of the berserker's scales crackling in the intense heat. Upon inspection, the Shadowscales asked what he had eaten for the past two days, to which Wesk simply grinned. They found no animal bones among the pile next to the fire.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Wesk awoke slowly, coming out of his past memories. He felt the warm presence of a fire to his right, and could sense a person near him. He shifted on to his left side, feeling excruciating pain shoot through his entire body. He at first saw nothing but darkness until a slight movement revealed Samara, sitting on a small stump, calmly reading a book.

From what Wesk could tell with the small amount of light from the fire, Samara was reading a basic magicks book. So she was an accomplished psychic but an apprentice mage. Due to her gaze which was still focused on the book, Wesk assumed she hadn't noticed he was awake. He decided to take advantage of that and drift back into the realm of his memories. A loud and air shattering roar pierced the night however, disturbing his chances of falling back to sleep.

Wesk looked slightly over his shoulder to see a large, lumbering brown bear running at incredible speeds towards the small encampment. Drool slowly escaped its frenzied jaws, eyes filled with animalistic fury. Wesk was about to rise and take care of the minor nuisance but instead thought this a perfect chance to test Samara's abilities. He waited a few moments but heard no indication of Samara moving to take action against the still rampaging bear.

Wesk sighed and in a whirlwind of speed, grabbed his bow and knocked an arrow. He focused his aim on the skull of the large bear and let fly the arrow, time seemingly slowing down. He watched as the arrow penetrated the bear's skull, flying out through the back and lodging itself into a tree. The beast fell to the earth in a frenzy of fur, muscle, and fat. It tumbled for a few moments, its limbs flailing in a gruesome fashion. Soon, it lay still, dust clearing from around the corpse, blood trickling out of the bear's skull.

Wesk quickly forgot about his kill and looked in Samara's direction, only to see her still sitting on the stump, her eyes wide in fright. Wesk slowly limped towards her, she still not moving. He was now crouched down in front of her, waiting for her to acknowledge him. When she took no heed of his presence, he shook her shoulders gently. She came out of her terrified state, and briefly looked at Wesk before doing something he didn't expect. She started to cry. Wesk watched as she sat and cried into her arms, feeling an emotion he didn't know he still had: Pity.

He took Samara into his lap and embraced her, letting her cling to his arms. He stared into the far off distance as Samara cried herself into a deep sleep. Wesk thought about how Samara acted earlier, not at all like an assassin does or should act. He was curious as to how she came to join the brotherhood, such a tender age. He would ask in the morning he mentally noted as he drifted of into a deep sleep himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Wesk awoke to an early morning scene, with fresh snow blanketing the ground. Samara still sat in his lap sleeping, a peaceful expression on her face. He slowly and quietly moved Samara off his lap and gently laid her on the ground. He began to gather his things, making sure not to make too much sound. As he did, his stomach growled in a low guttural sound. He looked over to his right and there laid the bear from the evenings events. He grinned and muttered "breakfast."

Wesk slowly dragged the bear over to the camp and lit the fire with a flare spell. As the fire consumed the fresh wood, Wesk went about skinning the bear, tossing the fur off to the side. By nine in the morning, Wesk had two large pieces of bear meat roasting over the fire. The sounds of the crackling fire woke Samara from her slumber, who sat up and stretched her arms wide as she yawned. She finally finished her little morning ritual before looking over to behold the sight of the nearly finished bear meat.

"Mmmm… that looks great!" Samara yelped happily. Wesk merely grunted an "hn" before grabbing a slab of meat and handing it to Samara. She took it and began to devour the meat like a ravenous wolf, much to the amusement of Wesk. When she finished, some small pieces of meat hung from her mouth, her lower face covered in light shades of blood. Wesk cocked his eyebrow in amusement and let out a small chuckle. Samara merely stared at him in confusion until she asked what was so funny. Wesk grabbed a nearby bowl and poured some water in from his wine sack and handed it to her. She took one short look into her reflection before making a small cry of surprise. She smiled sheepishly at Wesk before using the water to wash her face.

At around ten, Wesk rose from his makeshift chair and did one last check for anything before turning to Samara and telling her they should get back to the Sanctuary. She nodded in agreement before she looked past Wesk's shoulder, staring intently at something. Wesk slowly turned to see what held her attention to see another Argonian, clad in disheveled fur armor. He held out a small rusty dagger, telling Wesk to hand over all his valuables. Wesk began to draw his dagger before a small hand grabbed his arm.

He looked down to see Samara staring at him with those blue eyes, a serious look running across her face. "Let me handle him. You're still recovering from your wound and besides, I owe you for last night." Wesk looked at her for a few seconds before nodding and dropping his hand. Samara walked briefly to stand in front of Wesk, much to the confusion of the bandit. "What are you gonna do girl? Hit me with a stuffed animal? Get out of the way or I'll slit your throat!" the bandit shouted at Samara, with venom in his tone.

Samara merely smiled at the bandit, with a hint of mischief in her eyes. All in a matter of seconds, the bandit was sent flying, stopping only when he was impaled on branch, a frightened look on his face. Samara walked up to the tree the branch grew out of, the same smile still on her face. The bandit's legs danced in a whirling frenzy in an attempt to escape, not accepting his immediate fate. Soon the kicking stopped, the body hanging limply from the branch, droplets of blood falling from the gaping puncture in the bandit's chest, forming a small pool at the bottom.

Wesk simply stood there, retracing what had just happened. Samara stood in front of him, flashing that smile of hers. Wesk outstretched his arm and placed on her head, slowly ruffling her hair. "Well done. Very entertaining and useful." Wesk said as he retracted his arm. Samara stood there smiling, acting like all teenagers do when they're given high praise. Wesk began his walk on the dirt road leading to Cheydinhal, Samara skipping along at his side.

They were on the road no more than three hours when they reached Cheydinhal, the sun high in the sky. Snow littered the street, huge piles sitting every which way. Children bundled up in their fur coats played in the snow, throwing snowballs and making snowmen. Wesk looked down at Samara to see her gazing at the other children, a look of sadness on her face. "If you want, you can go and play while I report to Vicente." Wesk addressed to Samara. She looked up at him and with an excited look in her eyes ran off and dived into the snow, laughing all the way.

Wesk opened the lid to the well that led to the Sanctuary, crawling down the ladder which was covered in ice. He looked around to see that the Sanctuary was now livelier with about three other assassins going about their business. An Argonian, presumably a Shadowscale, sat in a chair in the corner, reading a book. An imperial female walked around the room, not doing anything important. Lastly, an Orc wearing heavy armor with an ax strapped to his back was chatting with a small Wood elf, a bow and a quiver of arrows strapped to her back. Wesk decided he would introduce himself later and walked off to find the vampire.

He came to Vicente's room, the door partially open. Wesk peered into the room through the crack to see Vicente drinking a vial full of human blood. Wesk shuddered and opened the door, waiting to be noticed. Vicente put down the vial and looked at Wesk, a friendly smile appearing on that gaunt face, the fangs poking out. "Ah, welcome back brother. It's been some time since I sent you out to kill that captain, almost four days. I had to send Samara out o find you, which looks like she was able to do just that."

Wesk nodded and took a seat, asking about recent contracts. "Well if you're feeling fine, I do have a contract that requires your attention. A banquet is being held in town for the upcoming holidays. Only a few select people have been invited, all at the behest of the employer of the contract. He wants these people dead, but wants them to feel that their death is eminent. If you can kill each guest one by one, making sure no one sees you do so, you will get a special reward. You will need to procure your self some new clothes, preferably expensive ones. Samara will join you on this contract, as each guest is bringing a friend or family member along. Now go, and do try to enjoy your self."

Wesk walked out into the middle of the cobbled street, eyeing the decorative ornaments that hung from the trees and lamp posts. Wesk glared at the nord dressed up as the patron saint of the holiday, an old man who gave presents to those less fortunate. Wesk hated the holidays, seeing them as a waste of time. He looked at the sun which was now beginning its descent, giving off a beautiful glare. Wesk proceeded to try and find Samara, knowing they had only a few hours until the fun would begin.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Wesk paced the streets, but found no Samara. He was getting impatient, but he knew he still had a few two hours before the banquet actually started. Beggars tried to get his attention, asking for food or gold but swiftly retreated from the Argonian, seeing the malice in his eyes. He soon heard shouts of terror coming from around the bend, the shouts of children. Wesk rushed to the scene to see Samara holding a young dark elf boy in midair, a look of hate and menace in her eyes.

"Let go of me! I have a right to hate that bastard Argonian for what he did to my brother!" the young boy shouted. Wesk now saw the resemblance. This boy looked almost exactly like that young dark elf he gave the poison apple to five days ago. Wesk walked up behind Samara, his gaze still on the boy. "Who cares if he killed him? Your brother was a thief and a liar! This city's better off without him! So don't you ever go around saying bad things about Wesk or I'll kill you!" Samara retorted, dropping the boy from her psychic grip.

As soon as the boy regained his balance, he saw Wesk standing behind Samara, hatred filling his gaze. "You… you killed my brother! I'll kill you for the pain you put me and my mother through!" The young boy drew a small steel short sword from his back and charged at Samara. He intended to cut her down just so he could get to Wesk. Wesk quickly reacted by pushing Samara to the side and drawing both of his daggers and in a glorious display of skill, threw both of them at the charging dark elf. They hit the small boy's frame in both his throat and heart, sending him crashing to the ground.

Wesk walked up to the boy, watching as the life started to leave him. The boy gazed at Wesk before muttering an apology to his mother for leaving her alone. Wesk grinned at the boy, knowing the perfect gift to give. "Don't worry my boy, I'll see to it that you have a family reunion in the void." The young boy's eyes widened in horror at the realization at what his actions had put into motion, and a single tear ran down his cheek and into the snow.

Wesk turned to Samara, who was staring at Wesk with amazement. "That… that was the best thing I've ever seen! You gotta teach me how to do that." Wesk smiled at Samara, knowing deep down, she was just like him. Maybe this was why he felt the way he did about her. Wesk snapped out of his thinking and remembered why he came looking for her in the first place. "Come, we got work to do tonight." Samara cocked her head slightly in a sign of confusion. "Huh? On the holidays?" Wesk began walking towards a clothing shop, Samara following close behind. "Yes. We're going to a banquet tonight. It'll be us and just twelve others. Our job is to kill those twelve, a special reward if we do it so as to make the guests scared. So that means we must be as good actors as we are killers. Kill them when they're alone and make sure you do it quietly."

They arrived at the shop, its faded windows revealing a roaring fire and shelves full of clothes. When they entered, a rather comely looking imperial stood behind a counter, reading a book, barely looking up to see her customers and murmuring a hello before going back to her reading. "Go and pick out a dress or something for the banquet." Wesk barely said before Samara was off looking at many different dresses. Wesk sighed before lazily looking at the many suits worn by the mannequins. He finally decided on a rather expensive but dashing black tunic and a pair of black pants.

He looked around for Samara, but she was nowhere in sight. "Samara? Samara!" No answer. Wesk went upstairs, shouting her name as he went. All of a sudden Samara came billowing out of what seemed to be a sea of dresses, holding a beautiful blue dress that matched her eyes. "I'll get this one!" Wesk nodded slightly and took it to go pay at the counter while Samara looked at the other dresses.

The imperial women behind the counter barely looked up before dully saying "That'll be 2000 gold." Wesk snapped to attention immediately. "How about for 1000 instead?" "How bout no. Now that'll be 2000 gold." Wesk sighed and looked into the imperial women's eyes. "I've got a better offer." Wesk drew his third concealed dagger and held it at the imperial's neck, the tip pushing against the skin. "I'll take these clothes for free and you'll get to live. Deal?" The women barely got out a yes before Wesk shoved the dagger through her throat, blood starting to run down her neck. "Didn't answer quickly enough" Wesk muttered as he took the clothes and proceeded to walk into the back to change, calling to Samara as he did so.

Wesk stood outside the changing rooms, leaning against the wooden wall. He was dressed in the black tunic and pants, both hanging loosely over his thin frame. Samara suddenly came walking elegantly out of the room, dressed in the blue dress. It clung to her thin frame, showing every curve, its bottom barely touching the ground. "So how do I look?" Samara queried. Wesk muttered a barely audible fine before starting to proceed out of the store. Samara giggled a bit before following him out into the brisk evening air.

Wesk looked to the sky, the sun now gone and being replaced by the moon, shimmering a faint red, like a droplet of blood. He had to hurry his steps if he was to reach the banquet in time. "Alright, now if we're to pull this off right, we'll need to gain the guest's trust. Let me do the talking when we get there and then go and chat, gain their trust, then start the killing. Remember, we need their trust or they might suspect us sooner." Wesk explained to Samara, hoping none of it was falling on deaf ears.

They soon reached their destination, a large mansion decorated in magical lights and reefs. Wesk knocked on the door, anxiously waiting for the fun to begin. A tall, blonde curly haired Imperial answered the door, dressed in commoner garb. "Hey welcome to the party. Well come on and get out of the cold." Wesk quickly stepped into the door, followed closely by Samara. "My name's Chris, what's yours?" "Wesk, and before you ask, this is my adopted daughter, Samara. Say hello Samara." Samara gave a small curtsy, followed by a gentle hello.

"Hey no need to be so fancy. Well, I'm gonna go grab some food while there's still some left." As the imperial walked off, Samara looked up at Wesk, a huge grin plastered on her face. "Adoptive daughter?" questioned Samara, a hint of joy in her voice. "We'll talk later, now go and mingle." Wesk watched as Samara skipped off to start chatting with a smallish Wood Elf, longish brown hair covering his eyes. Wesk grinned in pure delight as he walked off to find one of the unfortunate guests to talk to.

He soon stumbled upon a small imperial, long brown hair covering his face and running down his neck. He seemed to be a little gaunt in the face, a toothy grin plastered on his face. "Hello. I'm Wesk and it's nice to meet you." The young imperial outstretched his hand, waiting for Wesk to grasp it. Wesk took the hint and shook hands with him, already taking an immediate disliking to him. "The name's Cody. Those are some nice scales man. Did ya dye them or something?" Wesk put on a fake smile before answering "No they're all natural. If you'll excuse me, I've got to go find my daughter."

Two hours had passed, Wesk chatted with all the guests, earning trust. Soon, however, Wesk grew restless and began looking for victims. His gaze drifted to the tall, grandfather clock, which read nine PM. Soon the guests would be quieting down, and some even resorting to staying the night. This was the perfect time. He looked for his first victim, and immediately spotted the tall, curly haired imperial Chris, walking up the tall case of stairs, a yawn escaping his mouth. Wesk grinned with delight. "Time to go to work."

As Chris walked the narrow halls, Wesk stalked closely behind in the shadows. Chris finally found a bedroom and went about preparing for bed, while Wesk sat in the corner observing his every move. Soon the Imperial laid his head onto the fluffy, white pillow, with a contented sigh. Wesk rose from his corner and grabbed an elegant dinner knife from a nearby table, holding it like a scalpel. He quietly padded towards Chris, who stirred uncomfortably in his bed, tossing and turning in the silk sheets. As Wesk now stood over Chris, the Imperial's eyes shot open, and with seeing the argonian standing but four inches from him, threw a punch which hit Wesk's gut, causing him to drop the knife in surprise.

"What the hell? An assassin?!" murmured the Imperial, fear and confusion in his eyes. Wesk quickly recovered from the blow and rose to tackle Chris to the ground. As they struggled for their very lives, Wesk reached for the knife and in a blur of speed, slit Chris's jugular vein, blood spewing from the fresh wound, barely missing Wesk. The body soon went limp and lay on the cold, wooden floor, blood pooling around the body, the face in a state of unearthly anguish. Wesk slowly stood, dropping the knife as he did so. He quickly fled the scene; less someone catch him standing over the body.

Light greeted Wesk as he silently walked down the stairs, looking for his next victim. As Wesk patrolled the manor, he spotted a small bowl filled with apples. He searched his surroundings, looking for onlookers before replacing the apples with his own poisoned apples. He suddenly heard footsteps and quickly whirled around to see Samara standing in the doorway, holding a bloody spoon. Wesk cocked an amused look, Curious as to what she had done. "All I did was use my mind to push the spoon through the head of some Nord named Ryan. He didn't make a peep and no one saw me." She quickly finished with a grin. Wesk walked over to her and gestured for the spoon, a look of satisfaction plastered on his face.

Soon Wesk sat at the table, Samara sitting on his lap as he enjoyed one of the regular apples. Out of nowhere appeared Cody, that same grin still on his face. He gazed slightly at Wesk eating an apple before getting the idea to do the same. He grabbed one of the apples in the bowl, tossed it into the air, caught it, and proceeded to munch on it as he walked down the nearby stairs. Ten seconds later a loud thump was heard, followed by a high pitched scream. Wesk and Samara looked at each other before sharing a delighted giggle.

The night proceeded to go smoothly, no one suspecting either Wesk or Samara. They soon went about accusing each other, and casting votes on who should be killed for the sake of the whole. Out of the nine remaining guests, six were killed. The first to be slain was a rather fetching Dark Elf female, killed by bludgeoning. The second was a Breton mage, who in his defense, killed two of the guests with a scorching arc of fire, leaving nothing but their blackened bones, which formed two small piles. The mage was soon brought down by an unusually placed chair, which he tripped over and fell over the second floor railing, landing on the living room floor below. The fifth to die was an annoying Orc, who spoke with the slurred speech of a drunk. In his desperate attempt to escape, he ran headfirst into a mounted deer head, its antlers piercing the back of his mouth. The sixth to die was a redguard, who in his sudden depression at being picked, committed suicide with a nearby candle stick, jamming it into his left eye socket, dying from blood loss.

Soon only Wesk, Samara, the Wood Elf Eric, the Imperial Logan, and the Breton Willis were left. Tension could be felt in the air, eyes shifting towards one another. As Wesk sat in front of a roaring fire, he whispered into Samara's ear, who sat beside him. She nodded slightly and closing her eyes, fell into and trance, slumping in the bench, her head falling to rest on Wesk's shoulder. Across the room, Eric jerked slightly, gaining only Wesk's attention. The Wood Elf rose from his small chair and proceeded to grab the fire poker, holding it tightly in his hands. He suddenly rushed towards Willis, who was chatting feverishly with Logan, fear in his voice. Eric raised the poker above his head and bashed it against Willis's head, blood splattering onto Logan.

In a frenzy of rage, Eric kept beating at Willis's head, life having already left the small Breton. Blood now mixed with Willis's short, black hair, dripping off numerous strands. Logan still sat in his chair, a shocked expression on his face. Tears started to pour from his eyes for his fallen friend and in a surge of sadness, grabbed the poker from Eric and in an instant, proceeded to beat down the small man before him, ripping open his neck and head, more blood splashing onto Logan. Tears now mixed with blood, as he continued to beat the thing before him, which no longer bore any resemblance of a man.

Wesk rose from his chair, Samara having just snapped back into her own self. He slowly and ominously walked towards Logan, who now was crying over the body of his close friend. A swift kick was planted into Logan's face, sending him sprawling to the floor. Blood dripped out his mouth and nose, tears still running down his face. Disgusted with the sight before him, Wesk quickly grabbed a nearby tin teacup and slammed it onto the table before thrusting it into Logan's face, piercing his skull. The body soon slumped over, blood dripping onto Willis's face. Wesk took hold of Samara and with one final glance at the scene before him, exited the manor.

It was around twelve am when they returned to the Sanctuary, snow falling gently to the earth. No life was present in the main hall, only the skeletal guardian patrolling the dark halls. Out of the corner of his eye, Wesk saw Vicente sitting in a lavish wooden chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "Very good you two. No one seemed to guess it was you. I watched from the windows as you worked, admiring your teamwork. I think you've earned these rewards. For you Samara, I have this rare and ancient tome, filled with spells that should prove invaluable for future jobs." The vampire gently handed the large book to Samara, who took hold of it like it was a treasure of Sithis himself. It leather bound pages were worn and tattered, showing small droplets of dry blood. Samara, in an overjoyed state, sat down on the cold, stone floor and started to read.

The vampire slowly turned away from Samara and grabbed a rather large blanket, concealing something beneath its velvety layers. "Now for you Wesk, I have something special." Vicente slowly unraveled the blanket to reveal a beautiful set of twin short blades. The handles were pitch black, formed in a curve shape. The blades were dark blue, meaning they were forged of obsidian, and curved near the tip to form a slight scimitar shape. "These are your reward. They are known as Wrath and Gluttony, both enchanted. Wrath damages its targets vitality, while Gluttony absorbs it. I hope you can put them to good use now." Vicente, having finished his duty for the night, walked off into the darkness.

Wesk decided to test out his new blades and remembered a promise he had made earlier. He quickly ran into the streets of Cheydinhal, the night sky filled with stars. He found a rather plain looking Dark Elf female sitting on a small bed mat, crying softly. Wesk grinned, as he had found his mark. The woman cried into her arms, unaware of the argonian behind her. The last thing she heard was "I hope you had a good holiday…" before two blades came jetting out of her stomach. Her eyes fell onto Wesk, a single tear escaping from her red eyes as her life slipped away.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Wesk soon found himself back at the Sanctuary, darkness being the only thing to greet him. He softly walked to the living quarters, candlelight illuminating the hall. Only one soul was present besides Wesk, sitting on the bed next to his. At hearing Wesk's gentle steps, the figure turned around to see who it was, revealing the figure to be Samara. Her gaze followed Wesk until he sat on his small, but comfortable bed, a soft thump resonating off the bare walls. She merely stared at Wesk before she asked the question he knew she'd pose sooner or later. "Wesk, what was your childhood like?" Wesk sighed before beginning the tale of his earliest memories.

"You! Yes, you! What do you think your doing, hatchling?" A rather short and feeble looking Argonian child gazed into the direction of which the voice came. His greenish brown scales glittered due to the moon's rays, giving him the appearance of some holy being. He watched as a tall, muscular Argonian slowly walked towards him. When the taller Argonian finally reached him, he was sent sprawling to the ground, the adult having dealt him a savage blow. Blood trickled out his nose, his face swollen with pain. "Get up you useless wretch! I'm not done with you yet…" the adult bellowed out. "Yes instructor…" the young child mumbled. In the far off distance, a group of dark robed Argonians stood, concern and puzzlement evident on their faces.

"Odd. He's shadow born like all the others, yet he displays the personality of a saint," one of the elders mumbled. "We must fix this problem. It could act like a virus and spread to the other hatchlings," warned another elder. "But how? You can't simply change a will like that one. We've had him beaten, and yet he still does not learn." The elders grew silent for a few moments before the youngest of the group spoke up. "Well, I know it is forbidden, but maybe… Maybe we should try the Ritual of Corruption." The elders quickly began debating whether or not to carry out such a ritual. Some argued that it was too dangerous and unpredictable, while others said that it could lead to the perfect assassin. Soon the voices ceased, and a decision was made. The ritual would be carried out.

The instructor dealt one last swift kick before walking off with a small chuckle, leaving the battered child behind. As soon as the instructor was out of sight, another small Argonian child came bounding out from behind a tree. He knelt down beside the bloodied person before him and gently helped him to his feet. "You ok, Wesk?" The boy had genuine concern in his voice, and Wesk could see it in his eyes. "Yes, I'll be alright. Just a few bruises," Wesk jokingly stated. "You'll get yourself killed one of these days Wesk. You know it's against the tenets to spare your prey." Both of their gazes drifted towards the cowering Breton before them. "Tul, we can't kill him! He's done nothing to us. We've got to let him go." Wesk moved away from his close friend and took out his dagger. The Breton cringed with fear, letting a few tears stream from his face. The frightened man looked up in surprise when he saw that Wesk had cut his bindings. He briefly thanked Wesk before scampering off into the wilderness of Black Marsh.

Wesk and Tul walked back to the cabins in silence. Everything went normally that night. Everybody ate the same meal comprised of roots and berries with fish, everybody took a shower, and everybody turned in at eight PM. Before Wesk succumbed to his weariness, Tul gave him a piece of advice. "You need to kill to survive, Wesk. I can't be your friend if you don't." Wesk cast those words off with a grunt and drifted off into the realm of dreams. At midnight, a single shadow entered the cabin. It swiftly hovered over to Wesk's cot, and stood over him. The shadow gently lifted Wesk, making sure it didn't disturb his slumber. Just as quickly as it appeared, the shadow disappeared, with a sleeping Wesk in hand. A second shadow entered just a few minutes later…

"Awaken…" Wesk's eyes snapped open, and he saw only darkness. As he stood, a single light was placed on him. "Hello? Is anybody there?" Wesk waited for an answer from the dark abyss. Nothing. "You are a sickness… And I am the cure…" Wesk whirled around, looking for the source of the voice. "Where are you? Show me where you are!" The voice merely chuckled at Wesk's demand. The voice was but a whisper, yet it chilled Wesk to the bone. Suddenly, Wesk heard a different voice. Voices. They were chanting in a foreign tongue. _Arto masu nuvus vore erma spiritus_… Over and over, the incantation was spoken. Wesk merely stood there, fright evident in his eyes. Out of nowhere, pain burst into his body. He could feel the pain intensifying, moving slowly up his body. He fell to the ground, twitching with pain. "Do not fight it young one… Let it consume your being…" The voice echoed in his mind. Wesk could feel his soul burning… Darkness.

Wesk awoke once again to the darkness. He felt… Wonderful. He rose to his feet, feeling no pain whatsoever. Out of the dark abyss stepped the elders. "It seems to have been completed perfectly," whispered one of the elders. "You know that he needs to kill an innocent being within the next twenty four hours for the ritual to be completed." "Yes… That is why we have brought him. Bring out the child." From the center of the group came Tul, confusion apparent in his face. He looked towards Wesk, brightening up immediately. "Wesk! Where are we?" No answer. "Wesk? Wesk, are you alright?" He gently started to walk towards his friend.

"Wesk? Answer me, Wesk! What's wrong with you? Why's your arm black?" Wesk casually looked down to his right arm. It was indeed black, black as the void itself. He marveled at his scales new color, Tul simply standing there in discomfort. "Tul… You said I couldn't be your friend if I didn't learn to kill without remorse, right?" Wesk waited till Tul slowly nodded yes. In the blink of an eye, Wesk quickly outstretched his hands and snapped Tul's neck. The young argonian's body fell to its knees, then finally to the ground. Wesk knelt down and looked down at his friends head. It was completely twisted around, staring up at Wesk with an expression of shock forever engraved into the face. Wesk looked into his friends dull eyes and grinned. "Can I be your friend now?"

Samara gazed at Wesk with shock. "By… By Sithis. So, you have a spirit inside you?" Wesk gazed at his right arm, seemingly entranced by it. "Not exactly. I was infused with essences from the void itself. It took hold fully when I killed that pest of a friend." Samara simply stared at him in amazement. "So, if you killed your friend… Why are you nice to me?" Wesk gazed at Samara for the longest time. He had no answer. He didn't know himself. He quickly changed the subject. "Now that I've told you my past, why don't you tell me yours?" Samara looked down to the floor, an expression of sadness slipping onto her face. "I'll… I'll tell you in the morning." She quickly tucked herself into bed, facing away from Wesk. He merely stared after for a few moments before doing the same.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

A young girl, no more than seven years old, stood by a tall, thin man's side. Her long, black hair, which reached to the middle of her back, glistened in the sun's rays. She was only slightly taller than his knee, and her frail hand barely reached his, giving the appearance that the man was effortlessly holding her up. As they stood in the warm summer sun's rays, rich, old noblewomen would stop to admire the girl's adorable face, and comment on her beautiful blue eyes. She meekly smiled at them as they chatted with the man, her cheeks a constant rosy red.

But beneath the elegant white dress she wore were scars hidden away from the public. Scars that ran down the entire length of her back, some on her arms, and others on her legs. Scars that were created by the very man who held her hand now. The man she called father. Her father, a well-respected noble, was prone to staying at the local pub long into the night and coming home with the smell of alcohol still fresh on his breath. It was then that she would, "get in his way," or so he said. The nights usually ended with tears and a fresh scar marring her pale skin.

But, she loved him anyway. When he was sober, he was the nicest man in Tamriel, always complementing others and never raising his voice. No, the thing she hated was the alcohol that turned him into the vile beast that harmed her. Every time her father would begin to leave for the pub, she would cling to his vest, begging him not to go. Alas, he would merely take off the vest and leave it still clutched in her small hands as he walked out the door.

As the old noblewomen began to walk away, the girl's father jarred her out of her daze and they began the walk home. The town of Chorrol was beautiful at night, and the girl would often sit on the front steps and look at the stars. That evening, not a single cloud hung in the sky, meaning the view would be extraordinary. The girl stopped to gaze at the sky, wishing that time would fast forward so she could see the wonderful night immediately. The father, having noticed his daughter's hand had left his, kept on walking, only slightly turning his head and calling out to her. "Come on, Samara, we don't wanna be late for dinner, do we?" Samara quickly nodded her head and began to skip after him. "No, we don't!" she replied cheerfully.

By the time they got back, night had already fallen, and Samara was eager to finish dinner and take her place on the steps to gaze at the beautiful night sky. Breathing in the fresh air, the heavenly aroma of her mother's cooking filled her nostrils, and she eagerly ran in to eat, leaving her father still standing in the doorway, chuckling softly to himself. Her mother was in the kitchen, waiting for the ham to finish cooking. When she looked up and saw Samara's face, a gentle smile appeared on hers. She loved Samara as if she were the Imperial Dragon Crown, yet that didn't stop her from merely watching as Samara was beaten for a mistake she didn't do.

"It's about time you got back, Samara! I'm soooo hungry, but mama wouldn't let me eat till you and daddy got back!" Samara turned to glance at her little sister, Alma, who was sitting at the table, an exasperated look on her face. Samara merely chuckled at her sister's impatience as she took a seat next to her. Alma looked almost exactly like Samara and it wasn't uncommon for people to confuse the two for twins. The only way to tell them apart was by Alma's signature red dress, which she wore every day.

Dinner was always a joyous time for the family. Samara and her father would always tell each other jokes, provoking fits of laughter from the whole family except Alma, who would stare at the two of them with confusion, provoking even more and louder fits of laughter. When everyone had their fill of the delicious meal, everyone would go their separate ways, with Alma going to her room, father and mother cleaning the dishes, and Samara to her spot on the porch.

She was right in assuming that the stars would be beautiful that night. Every star that hung in the sky glittered like a single septim, painting an image in Samara's mind of some god-like entity dropping a bag of gold, creating the sight before her. Her stargazing was disturbed by shouts of anger and pain. She could tell it was coming from inside and the voices were familiar to her. They belonged to her mother and father. Already standing, she rushed in to see what was the matter.

She reached the living room only to see her mother cowering in the corner, fear and anger clearly in her eyes, a fresh bruise on her left eye. A figure was standing over her, its hands balled into fists. "You don't tell me what to do, you whore…" The voice was slurred but Samara knew at once who it belonged to. "Father…" She softly whispered. He whirled around at once, staggering slightly as he did so. "Samara? Wha… What are you still doing awake?" He could barely speak, and Samara could smell the alcohol on his breath from her place in the doorway.

She slowly began to walk towards him, and he towards her. She barely got close to him before he struck her across the face. She fell to the floor with a cry. Her father now loomed over her, glaring at her with anger. "You're supposed to be in bed! You miserable child, can't you do anything right?" He shouted this at the top of his lungs, causing Samara to flinch in fear. His voice was like a bear's roar, and it frightened her to the very core. Slowly lifting his leg, he delivered a swift kick into her abdomen, causing fresh tears to stream from her eyes. Her vision was beginning to cloud as she looked at her mother, who was still cowering in the corner.

When her vision was finally swallowed by darkness, she could hear a faint voice calling out to her. "_The time for revenge has come. Awaken, my child_." The voice was but a whisper, but she could hear it perfectly. Suddenly, she could see again, but something was different. She felt as if she was but a bystander in her own body, merely watching as she rose without her willing it. Her father looked at her with contempt, raising his hand to strike her once more. "You'll never learn, will you? Fine… Then I'll keep punishing you until you do!" His hand nearly reached her face when an unknown force prevented it from doing so.

Confusion crept into his eyes as he withdrew his arm. He slowly backed away from his daughter, muttering under his breath in disbelief. Samara watched as her body continued to act without her control. Whatever was in possession of her rose it's arm and to everyone's disbelief and horror, an empty wine bottle rose from the floor, rising to hover in front of Samara. Her father's eyes were now occupied by fear, and he stared in disbelief at his daughter. "What… What in the Nine are you?!" His voice quivered as he spoke. Samara, or rather the entity in possession of her, grinned at this.

With a single twitch of her hand, the bottle launched itself at her father. It collided with his forehead, shattering into small shards, some embedding themselves into his flesh. Small droplets of blood began to fall to the floor, lining the cracks in the wood. As he looked at his daughter in horror, blood began to seep into his eyes. Crimson tears began to cascade down his cheeks, and he now fell to the floor, sobbing violently. As he looked up, Samara began to slowly walk towards him, making barely a sound. His mind told him to move, but his body sat motionless on the floor.

As Samara watched in horror at what this being was doing to her father, tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She wanted to stop all this, to save her father, but no matter what she wanted, this being would not listen. It merely ignored her pleas and continued on with it's sadistic agenda. The demonic being now loomed over Samara's father, grinning like a madman. He now looked upon her with a look that would make most believe he was one of Sheogorath's demented worshipers. Suddenly, blinding pain engulfed his senses.

He could now feel as the tiny shards of glass that had lodged themselves in his forehead began to slowly cut through his flesh, traveling towards his brain. He could feel each agonizing slither, but it didn't matter. His mind was already destroyed. As the shards reached his skull, he looked up to his daughter, his eyes a faded blue. The last image he saw was the beautiful face of Samara, grinning like an imp, tears cascading down her cheeks from her eyes. His eyes. The glass shards finally pushed through the dense material of his skull and bore into his brain. He fell to the ground, blood beginning to seep from his ears.

The true Samara was now on the verge of insanity, and was shouting at the demon to leave. But, it didn't listen. "_You cannot deny your true feelings. Banish all thoughts of love you still have for this wretched group you call a family. I will set you free from this shackled life. I will make you realize…_" The voice said this with a loving tone, but it still filled Samara with fear. "Realize what?!" she shouted at the being, but no responsecame. Instead, the demonic entity turned towards Samara's mother.

"I will make you experience the most horrible of tortures. You could have stopped it all, but you hid away like a coward. You turned your back on your own flesh and blood, on your own child! I cannot forgive what you have done to MY child!" It was Samara's voice, but horribly distorted. Her mother now clung to a chair like a frightened animal, eyes wild with panic. Closing it's eyes, the vengeful entity began to speak in an ancient tongue. Samara's mother was confused, but soon a pain began to eat away at her. As time went by, it grew worse, spreading through out her body like a fire. No, it wasn't her body, but her very soul. Something was eating her soul! She began to scream, but to no avail. No amount of screaming would do her any good as the house was far away from the rest of the city. Soon, her screaming began to die down, and finally, she barely whimpered.

She could feel as the last of her soul was devoured, and a single tear slid down her cheek. "You will not rest. Your soul will forever be tortured in the void, where I will oversee it. It is what you deserve. A lifetime of torture for one who allowed it to happen to her daughter." The voice was cold and laced with venom. Samara watched as her mother's eyes slowly closed, and for a split second, she felt nothing but happiness. This quickly faded, however, when she realized that the demon was slowly walking towards the stairs that lead to Alma's room. At once she began to protest and beg the entity.

"Please, not Alma! She has never done anything to me! There is no reason to punish her… So please, please! Spare her…" For a moment the demon halted it's steps. Samara awaited in painful suspense for the voice to respond. _"…Very well. But know this. She is a shackle, just like those two were. She will remain bound to you, hindering your progress. Is that what you really want?"_ "I don't care… Just please, let her live." As she spoke those words, she could feel as the demon left her body, and she began to regain control. Just when she finally was herself again, she turned to look at the horrifying sight before her. The blood-ridden bodies that were once her mother and father. She couldn't take it. Her vision faded and she collapsed to the floor.

Samara awoke with a shout, cold sweat covering her forehead. She looked around and realized that she was in the living quarters of the Sanctuary, Wesk still sleeping in the bed beside her. She slowly wiped her sweat covered face and sighed. A dream… No, a nightmare. She had relived it all… And this time, the voice was not a part of the dream. She could still hear it in her head, as clear as day. It whispered dark teachings into her ears, and she tried to block it out. But no matter how she tried, it would not leave. Samara's mind was starting to fail her, and she was losing the battle. She didn't know how long she could keep it up…

Suddenly, a dark cloaked figure broke into the room. "Quickly! Everyone to the main hall!" He shouted, making sure his voice was heard. Wesk began to stir from his dreams and looked over to see Samara, sitting on her bed with a exhausted look on her face. "What's the matter, didn't get enough sleep?" Samara glanced at him and quickly smiled. "Yeah, bad dream. But I'll be fine, don't worry. We should get going, though. You heard that guy." Wesk nodded and quickly leapt off his bed. Lifting Samara onto his back, the pair silently began to walk towards the main hall.


End file.
